


What They Can't Take From Us

by CelestialVoid



Category: Equals (2016), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - EQUALS, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood and Gore, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Boys Kissing, Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek Hale Has Panic Attacks, Dystopia, First Kiss, Gay Sex, Gore, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Naked Cuddling, Neck Kissing, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rough Kissing, Smut, Suicide, The Hale Fire, Top Derek, Top Derek Hale, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 09:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16239158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Humans have a fatal flaw: their emotions make them vulnerable, uncooperative, distracted. However, medical professionals found a way to manipulate the human genome and eradicate the emotions that lead to violence, sin, and destruction.But, for Derek, all it took was one instant—one person—and everything changed. Now he must choose whether to live in a world who sees him as sick, or to give in to these strange feelings.





	What They Can't Take From Us

Humans have a fatal flaw: their emotions make them vulnerable, uncooperative, distracted. Years ago, medical professionals found a way to manipulate the human genome and eradicate the emotions that plagued them. After that, society fell into line. There was order, peace and productivity.

Every day starts the same. Derek blinks his eyes open, pushes aside the blankets and climbs out bed. He showers and dresses in the same uniform – a white dress shirt and matching white jacket with a collar turned up. He eats his meals and leaves his apartment, following the flowing crowd through the streets as he makes his way to work. He occupies himself with his work, illustrating the scripts of history records and drawing pictures of the Defectives—people who were overcome by their emotions.

But everything changed that day; the day the man jumped from the roof.

Derek didn’t see it, but he heard it: the gut-wrenching thud of the body hitting the ground. He felt his heart skip a beat, a jolt of electricity soaring through his veins. He followed the others around him, turning around and walking to the large glass windows that ran along one wall. He looked out into the courtyard where a body lay twisted and still. Pooling blood seeped into the green grass, spilling red across the ground. The man’s eyes were open wide, the pale blue depths clouded over; lifeless.

Derek remembered the cold feeling that settled in his stomach, his chest aching as he turned his gaze away from the body. The room was abuzz with conversations, talk about how the man was probably Defective and killing himself was better for everyone. There were questions thrown about: questions of whether anyone recognised him or knew his name, but Derek didn’t hear any of it, his eyes were focused on the young man who stood at the far end of the crowd.

Stiles—a scripter for the history department.

He stood a few steps away from everyone else, his dark brown eyes glistening as they caught the light. His lips trembled, his chest rising and falling as he fought to keep his breathing even. Derek noticed the way he balled his shaking hands into fists, tendons straining against his pale skin.

Derek felt his chest tighten even more, a strange sensation of yearning filling his mind. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to step over to Stiles’ side, to hold him and tell him everything would be alright.

Derek shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts from his mind. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision as he cast one last glance at the body in the courtyard. He swallowed hard, his mouth strangely dry as he turned his back on the windows and returned to his desk. But there was no denying it: something had changed.

 

\- - - - -

 

His boots sank into the muddy sludge that covered the ground, dragging at his feet and making him stumble and slow slightly. He slid across the slimy bed of dead leaves as he ran down the winding path. The towering trees arched over him, the tunnelling darkness pulling at him as he ran towards the orange glow.

Rancid smoke and ash filled his lungs as he ran, making him cough and gasp breathlessly. His nose was filled with the bitter scent of ash and the rich scent of burning pine.

The cold night air stung his cheeks, freezing the tears that streamed down his face.

He skidded to a halt, his legs trembling as he stood before the manor engulfed in flames.

A roaring orange glow consumed the building. Tendril-like flames flickered as they devoured the wooden planks and the frail lace curtains. The heat of the blaze radiated against his skin, the glow making the beads of sweat glisten on his skin and his tears burn as they welled in his eyes.

His heart sank into his stomach. He blinked heavily, heavy tears falling past his lashes and trailing down his cheeks. His whole body trembled, his stomach tense and his chest aching.

He bolted upright, gasping for air as he threw himself off his bed and took off running. His body slammed into the far wall of his apartment, his legs collapsing beneath him. He fell to the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest, holding himself as he heaved in deep breaths. His shoulders shuddered as tears streamed down his face. His chest ached, his heart hammering against his ribs.

 _What’s happening to me?_ he thought.

That morning, he made his way to the hospital. He kept his head down, his eyes focused on the glossy white tiles that stretched across the waiting room floor as he let his mind wander.

“What Stage?”

The young man’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at the stranger. His face was kind, his dark eyes looking at Derek with curiosity.

“Pardon?” Derek muttered.

“What Stage are you?” the young man repeated.

“I’m not--” Derek stammered. “I’m just here for a check-up. Strictly precautionary.”

The young man nodded thoughtfully, the mess of tousled brown hair bouncing atop his head. The pale light of the office made his tan skin glow as he turned back to look at Derek.

“I’m Scott,” he introduced himself.

“Derek,” he replied with a curt nod. Before he could stop himself, he asked, “What Stage are you?”

“Two,” Scott answered honestly.

Derek blinked in confusion. “You don’t look sick.”

Scott dropped his gaze, his eyes darkening. “I have my good days and my bad days.”

A doctor called his name and Derek rose to his feet, casting one last glance in Scott’s direction.

“Good luck,” the young man said.

“You too,” Derek replied.

He followed the doctor into the disturbingly pristine room, grimacing at the glaring light that bounced off the reflective metal surfaces and the smell of disinfectant and lemon scented cleaners.

Derek sat down on the edge of the bed as instructed and told the doctor about what had happened last night. “…The ground was rushing towards me. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It felt like my stomach was in my mouth…”

“You had a nightmare, Derek,” the man explained.

“I never want to experience anything like it again,” Derek muttered, scolding himself for the way his voice trembled.

The doctor nodded thoughtfully. “How long have you had these symptoms?”

Derek thought about it for a moment. “Three days," he answered. “No longer than that.”

“Alright, I’m going to take some blood and run some tests,” the doctor said as he picked up a small silver device.

Derek held out his arm, feeling the needles puncture his skin.

The doctor’s face grew tense as he looked down at the results. “You’ve tested positive,” he told Derek. “You have S.O.S.”

Switched-On Syndrome—the multi-stage disease that restored human emotions, turning people into Defectives.

Derek swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He held his breath, his voice tense as he asked, “Are you going to send me to the DEN?”

“No,” the doctor said reassuringly. “You’re only Stage One. At this Stage you are no danger to yourself or others. You’ll experience a return of emotions such as sadness, anxiety, and empathy. You’ll become more sensitive to sensory information; noise, light, taste. You might find it more difficult to focus. You may experience nightmares like the one you did last night.”

“Is there any way to stop it?” Derek asked.

“There is no cure, but I can prescribe you inhibitors,” the doctor answered, picking up a shiny silver tablet as he began to type something on the screen. “They won’t stop you from feeling emotions, but they might help make it more bearable for you.”

Derek nodded. Another thought struck him. “A woman at my workplace returned from conscripted conception. She gave birth to a Defective. Is it possible that I could have caught it from her?”

“Despite what people think, S.O.S is not contagious,” the doctor explained. “It is merely a minor genetic mutation. There’s not cure, but scientists and researchers are getting close. I’m sure that by the time you reach Stage Three and need to be contained in the DEN, we’ll have a cure.”

Derek nodded. He wanted to believe the man’s words, but something nagged at the back of his mind, a lingering sense of dread.

“We’ve cured cancer, we’ve cured the common cold, and we can cure this,” the doctor said reassuringly. “You have nothing to worry about.”

 

\- - - - -

 

He did as he was told: he took the inhibitors and went about his life. He followed the same routine, but something was different. He was restless, unable to sleep and when he did he would wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares. He would drag himself into the shower, standing still as he watched the glistening rivulets of water caress his skin, shimmering as they caught the light. He would stare at the small scar on his wrist where his I.D tag sat beneath his skin. He ate his breakfast and got dressed in the same pristine, white uniform. He winced as he stepped out of his apartment and into the light of day. He kept his head down, trying not to draw attention to himself.

He focused on his work, finding himself drawn into the details of the illustrations he drew, following the scripts that he had been sent. It wasn’t until he had finished his draft and sent it to the scripter for confirmation that he realised who he had been assigned to work with.

Stiles.

His breath caught in this throat as he read the name, not sure if he had imagined it or not. He glanced up from his workstation, looking across the room to where Stiles stood before his.

The pale light of the large touch-screen lit his face, his dark eyes darting back and forth as he read lines of texts and prepared scripts. He seemed to pause for a moment, his back straightening. He turned to look at Derek, catching his eye for a second.

Derek broke his gaze, dropping his head and hiding his face. He felt a rush of hear rise to his cheeks as he stared down at his work, trying his best to distract himself.

By the time lunch came, Derek didn’t feel up for idle chatter. He isolated himself, sitting as far as he could away from everyone else.

He knew they had their suspicions, he wasn’t oblivious to the glances they sent his way. He hadn’t said what he was; he didn’t need to. If they were really that curious, they could have looked up his profile, could have read it for themselves like he had so many times. Right at the top of the page, next to a photograph of his expressionless face and just beneath his name, in bold, red letters: STAGE 1.

Derek absentmindedly prodded at his food, letting his mind wander as he ate. He felt a shudder claw its way up his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He turned to look, his heart skipping a beat as he realised that Stiles was staring at him from across the space.

Derek swallowed hard, looking away.

His heart hammered against his chest.

 _Stop it_ , he scolded himself, drawing in a shaky breath as he tried to calm himself.

He finished his lunch and returned to work, struggling to focus. His eyes drifted up to Stiles, watching as the young man went about his work. He found himself watching Stiles’ nimble fingers dance across the screen of his workstation. He watched the way his soft pink lips would move ever so slightly as he mouthed the words he was typing.

Time seemed to drift by.

One by one, the others in the office turned off their workstations, said their farewells and left to go home. Derek looked up from his workstation, realising that the room was empty; everyone had left. Everyone but Stiles.

Stiles switched off his workstation and turned to look at Derek. He met his gaze but said nothing, he just turned and walked towards one of the unmonitored hallways.

Derek waited a moment before switching off his workstation and following. He made his way down the hallway to where a small closet door sat ajar. He hesitated, his chest tightening as he reached for the door handle and pulled it open. He stepped into the closet and shut the door behind himself.

Stiles stood across from him, his face stern as he met Derek’s gaze.

Derek couldn’t help but stare, drinking in the sight of him as he studied every detail of his face: his dark eyes swirling like golden liquor as they glistened in the light that filled the confined space. His porcelain-white skin was covered in moles that charted constellations across his skin. His short brown hair was a tousled mess.

Stiles swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his lips parting to draw in shaky breath.

Derek felt like his limbs had turned to stone. He desperately fought the urge to move, to reach out and touch Stiles; it was against the rules, taboo.

“Your hands are shaking,” Stiles whispered, his warm voice breaking the tense silence.

“So are yours,” Derek pointed out.

Derek gave in and lifted his hand trembling. He reached out for Stiles, watching as Stiles’ eyes fluttered shut; waiting. Derek brushed his fingers across Stiles’ cheek, ever-so-faintly caressing his face. He heard Stiles draw in a soft gasp.

He felt the tension rise, his heart hammering against his ribs. He held his breath, his ears screaming. He felt his blood pulse through his veins, his body feeling cold; yearning for Stiles’ warmth. The tension was palpable. He felt as if the world would collapse around him if he didn’t move.

He gently brushed a strand of hair behind Stiles’ ear.

Stiles’ eyes flew open wide, the amber irises consumed with black. He took a step forward, falling into Derek’s arms.

Derek wrapped himself around Stiles, one hand hooked around his shoulders and the other cupping the back of his head as Stiles buried his face in the curve of Derek’s neck.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist, balling the man’s jacket into his fists and clinging to it.

Derek craned his neck, burying his face in the mess of Stiles’ hair.

Stiles pulled back slightly lifting his face towards Derek’s.

Derek leaned over him until their faces were level with each other, his forehead resting against Stiles’. He felt Stiles’ warm breath play across his lips as they drew closer and closer.

Stiles’ lips formed his name, but he didn’t hear it; he could only hear the thundering beat of blood in his ears.

He caved to desire, crushing his mouth against Stiles’. Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs as his shoulders dropped. Derek dropped his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, enveloping him in his warmth. One of Stiles’ hands glided up Derek’s arm, up his bicep and across his shoulder blade. His fingers slid into Derek’s hair, lacing the soft locks between them as he tried to pull Derek closer.

Derek sighed in return, craning his neck as he deepened the kiss. His fingers toyed with the hem of Stiles’ shirt, sliding under the cotton. His hand glided up Stiles’ side, feeling the curve of his waist and the small of his back. He wanted to feel every inch of skin.

His lungs burnt so much he wanted to cry but he desperately didn’t want to let go. He drew back, gasping for air.

Stiles tilted his chin, chasing his Derek’s lips.

Derek brought them back together again, but this time was different; more gentle and loving. He kissed him lightly. When he drew back again, he dropped his head, resting his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder.

The two of them stayed that way for a while, lost in the comfort of each other.

They sank to the floor, sitting side by side as they talked.

“How long have you known?” Stiles asked.

“About myself? Days,” Derek answered.

“And about me?”

“The day the man jumped,” Derek explained. “I saw the way you looked at him.”

Stiles bowed his head.

“What about you? How long have you known you’re sick?” Derek asked.

“A year and three months,” Stiles replied. “I didn’t want to go to the doctor, I just… knew. And I knew there was nothing anyone could do to help.” He paused for a moment. “You know what would happen if someone saw us in here, right? We’d be sent straight to the DEN. It’s a death sentence.”

Derek’s gut twisted at the thought, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard.

The Defective Emotional Neuropathy Facility—or the DEN—was a containment facility for the Defectives who were beyond help.

“No one’s going to find us,” Derek reassured him.

A soft smile lifted the corners of Stiles’ lips, but Derek knew it was only for show.

“I’m beyond help,” Stiles said quietly. “I don’t know for sure what I am, but I know that if anyone found out what I was, I’d be sent to the DEN. So I just pretend. I have to practice unbearable discipline and self-control every day. And then, when I saw you the other day, I knew. The way you looked at me--”

“I can’t help it,” Derek muttered apologetically.

“I know,” Stiles whispered. “But I felt it too. It feels… wrong.”

“No,” Derek said softly. “It’s right. For the first time, something feels right.”

Stiles sniffed back a sob. “I’m scared,” he admitted. “I’m so scared.”

“Me too,” Derek admitted.

He reached out and gently slid his hand into Stiles’, lacing their fingers together.

“I want to feel things, I want to feel human,” Stiles muttered, glistening tears rolling down his cheeks. “But every time I feel something, I just get this overwhelming sense of guilt; like I shouldn’t want this. And there are times when I just… I just want things to go back to normal.”

“We just have to hold out for the cure,” Derek said reassuringly.

After a moment of silence, Stiles uttered, “We can’t do this again. It can’t happen, you know that.”

Derek looked hurt. He opened his mouth to argue but Stiles was right. If they got caught, it would all be over. Derek let out a heavy sigh, resting his head back against the wall.

“Will you stay here with me a little longer?” Stiles pleaded.

“Of course,” Derek whispered.

Stiles let his head fall against Derek’s shoulder. They sat in silence, listening to each other breathe and falling into the comfort of each other’s presence.

“Have you ever woken up before the sun and just watched as it lights up the sky?” Stiles asked, his voice breaking the silence.

“No, I haven’t,” Derek answered.

“It’s the most beautiful thing you’ll ever see,” Stiles whispered, his voice soft and dreamy. “The whole world bursts into colour and it’s as if time stands still for a moment. It’s like all your troubles disappear with the darkness and the world is a different place.”

 

\- - - - -

 

Derek tried to keep his distance from Stiles, no matter how much it hurt him. He would pass him in the hallway, making eye contact for only a second as their hands came so close to touching. He would listen to him talk in the meetings, the words draining away as his warm voice soothed him. He would keep conversations to a minimum, asking for his thoughts on the illustration drafts and passing greetings. He ate lunch alone, unable to stop his eyes from wondering to where Stiles sat with the others.

Finally, the light of day began to dim and one by one, everyone in the office shut off their workstations and left. Derek followed, saving his work before turning off his workstation.

He made his way outside, walking along the streets and past towering buildings; crystal-like skyscrapers made of glass. He made his way along the metal bridge that passed over the wavering foliage of old trees that grew in the reserve.

The streets were quiet at night, abandoned.

Derek glanced up at a familiar face as he walked across the bridge.

“Hello, Scott,” Derek greeted as he stepped over the young man’s side. “Are you okay?”

Scott looked up at him and nodded. “I’m okay. Why don’t we take a walk?”

Derek nodded, walking beside Scott as they passed the water fountains in the courtyard, the streams of water lit by small white lights that made the, shimmer like diamonds.

Before he knew it, Derek was telling Scott everything: his diagnosis as Stage One, his feelings for Stiles, Stiles’ condition, and the night they had spent together in the storage closet.

“I can’t explain it, it just feels good to be around him,” Derek said. “But we get so caught up in it that we risk getting caught, and the last thing I want is for him to get hurt.”

“Sounds like you’re in love,” Scott said soft—not teasing. “Dealing with the disease alone is hard enough, I can’t imagine what it’s like to have to worry about someone you care about as well.”

“It’s hard,” Derek admitted. “Every part of me wants to be with him, but I know I can’t be. So, no matter how much it hurts, I have to stay away.”

“Your friend, what Stage is he?” Scott asked.

“He’s self-diagnosed,” Derek explained. “He doesn’t know. But he knows the symptoms and he estimates that he’s Stage Three at least. He’s fighting the disease without the drugs.”

Scott nodded thoughtfully. “So he’s a Hider—a Defective who hides in plain sight?”

Derek nodded.

Scott fell silent. “Listen, I’m part of a group, a support group of sorts, and I know someone who might be able to help you and your friend. Her name is Melissa and she’s a Hider too. She works as a nurse in the DEN of all places. She and I meet up with a few others from my work. It’s a safe place where you can talk with people who understand. I’m heading there right now if you’d like to come. It might help.”

Derek thought about it for a moment. He swallowed hard and nodded, letting Scott lead the way to a large building and into the service elevator. The metal cage rumbled and shuddered as it glided down into the basement.

Derek felt a shudder crawl up his spine as he stepped out into the service hallway. The metal walls seemed to close in around him, coated in a faded white pain that seemed blue in the dull light. There was an eerie echo of trickling water and the hum of generators.

Derek drew in a breath of stale air as he followed Scott. They stopped before a large metal door, the kind you would have seen in old photographs of submarines or vaults.

Scott thumped his fist against the door once before yanking on the wheel. The metal groaned as the lock pulled back and the door opened. Scott ushered Derek inside.

A ring of mismatched chairs sat in a circle in the middle of the room. Two people sat on the chairs—a man and a woman—while another man stood in the corner of the room. As he entered, their heads snapped up and all eyes fell on Derek.

“Everyone, this is Derek,” Scott introduced. He pointed at the woman sitting in one of the small metal seats. “This is Melissa.”

She was in her forties and wore white doctor scrubs. Her soft face was worn with creases. Her eyes were like dark smoky quartz, her gaze soft. A few curls had escaped the elastic tie, falling down around her face.

Derek nodded politely.

Scott turned to the man who sat next to her. His thinning brown hair was pulled back from his face and his expression was set in a scowl. His jaw was set firm, his short beard coloured by greying hairs. His pale green eyes focused on Derek.

“This is Chris,” Scott said. “He works in the security department. And this—” He gestured towards the man who lingered among the shadows in the corner of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. “—is Rafael. He’s part of the security team too.”

Scott gestured for Derek to take a seat. The group began to talk, sharing their stories and how they felt. Derek told them about himself and about Stiles, about how they wanted to run away.

“I have an idea, but it’s going to sound crazy,” Chris said quietly. “You and your friend, I can get you to the Peninsula.”

“The Peninsula?” Derek repeated, stunned. “I thought that was just a myth, a story about outcast Defectives cowering among the ruins of a desolated city for warmth.”

“It’s not like that at all,” Chris answered. “My daughter, Allison, is a Defective. When doctors found out, they wanted to kill her and I had no choice but to get her out of the city and to the Peninsula. It’s not ruins, it’s a thriving community; a town on the beach. People are safe there, people like us.”

“How would we get out?” Derek asked.

“Once a week, there’s a south-bound train that leaves from here,” the man explained. “There’s an airport close to one of the stations, and I know people who work there. If we can get there, I can fly you to the Peninsula.”

“You could really get us out?” Derek said, hopeful.

“The train leaves in two days,” Chris said. “If you and your friend meet me at the station, I can get you both out.”

Derek felt his heart flutter, a strange mix of joy, relief and hope soaring through him.

 

\- - - - -

 

Derek pushed open the door to his apartment. He gasped as his eyes fell upon the silhouette by the window. His heart leapt into his throat, hammering against his ribs as he took a step closer.

He didn’t need them to turn around; he knew who it was. He knew from the freckles that covered his neck, from the tousled mess of chestnut-brown hair.

“Stiles,” he called quietly.

The young man whirled around, his eyes wide as he looked at Derek.

“Is everything alright?” Derek asked as he stepped around the edge of the couch and sat down next to Stiles.

“I couldn’t do it,” Stiles whispered, his voice trembling and weak. His dark eyes were full of pain as he looked at Derek. “I couldn’t stay away. I can’t…”

Derek shuffled closer, pulling Stiles into his arms.

Stiles buried his face in the curve of Derek’s neck.

Derek cupped the back of Stiles’ head with one hand and held him close.

“I can’t stand it,” Stiles whimpered. “I hate feeling like there’s something wrong with me.”

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Derek said softly.

“I know that,” Stiles replied. After a moment, he added, “I don’t’ want a cure. I don’t want to forget this… I don’t want to forget us.”

Derek pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head.

“I will never, _never_ ,forget you,” Derek promised.

“What do we do?” Stiles said helplessly.

“Run away,” Derek answered.

“Where would we go?”

“The Peninsula.”

Stiles pulled back slightly, staring at Derek in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

“It’s a real place,” Derek told him. “And I know someone who can get us there. He can get us out of here and we can go wherever you want, do whatever you want.”

“How?” Stiles asked.

“We get on a south-bound train in two days,” Derek explained. “It’ll take us to an airport where my friend can fly us to the Peninsula.”

Stiles’ eyes darkened in though. “You really think we can do it, get out of here?”

Derek nodded.

“Okay,” Stiles said, a sweet smile lifting the corners of his lips. “I trust you.”

Derek couldn’t help himself; he reached up and cupped Stiles’ face, bringing their lips together in a tender, loving kiss.

Stiles let out a soft sigh as he melted into Derek’s arms. His hands slid up the front of Derek’s jacket, grabbing the fabric and pulling him closer.

Derek ran his hand through his soft locks, lacing his fingers through Stiles’ unkempt hair. Stiles fell back into his grasp as Derek tilted his head to the side and deepened the kiss. Desire overcame them as the kiss turned from tender to passionate.

Stiles’ hands slid up Derek’s back. He ran his nails across the man’s shoulder blades, making Derek growl.

Derek pulled away from the kiss, trailing his lips down Stiles’ jaw and running his teeth across the young man’s throat gently, not enough to hurt but just enough to taste his tantalising flesh. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it aside, letting Stiles’ nimble fingers unbutton his shirt and slide it off his shoulders.

He secured his grip on the young man, hoisting Stiles’ thighs around his waist before standing and carrying him over to the bed. He laid the young man back across the sheets.

He locked his lips on the young man’s throat, feeling his thundering pulse pound against his flesh. He trailed his kisses up to Stiles’ jaw and across his pale cheeks, back to his lips.

Stiles ground his hips against Derek’s, eliciting a low growl from the man.

Derek sat back on the mattress, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to the patch of exposed skin between Stiles’ shirt and his waistband. He unbuttoned the young man’s pants, tugged them down his legs and tossed them across the room, his boxers soon to follow.

Stiles shifted about slightly, feeling a little exposed.

Derek seemed to sense the young man’s discomfort, sliding off the bed and rising to his feet. He stripped out of his pants, standing naked before the man.

Stiles’ eyes devoured his exposed flesh, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he gently gnawed on his lower lip.

Derek crept back onto the bed, bring their lips together again and running his hands along the young man’s bare thighs. His hands slid up Stiles’ sides as Stiles wrestled his own shirt off.

His crotch throbbed at the sound of Stiles’ unrestrained gasps and groans. He moved his hand up to Stiles’ cock, gently grazing the palm of his hand against his erection.

“Derek!” Stiles gasped his name like a prayer, unravelling before the man as he arched towards his touch. “Derek.”

Derek could feel the young man’s cock growing harder and slicker, precome spilling from the head and dripping over his hand. He slid his hand between Stiles’ legs and pressed his fingertips against Stiles’ opening. He slipped one finger in, pushing against the pressure and resistance.

Stiles cried out with delight, grabbing at fistfuls of the sheets.

Derek whispered sweet nothings to him as he slowly eased his finger in and out of the young man.

Stiles rolled his head back and tried to slow his breathing. His teeth tore into his lip as Derek sank a second finger into him. He waited a moment for Stiles to relax before sliding his fingers in further.

A heavy moan dragged its way out of the young man’s chest. Stiles’ back arched off the mattress and his hips ground down against Derek’s fingers.

“There?” Derek teased, slowly working his fingers back and forth.

He stilled his hand and withdrew from the young man.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

Stiles nodded eagerly, reaching for Derek.

He leant forward and brought his lips to Stiles’.

He lined himself up with Stiles’ eager entrance. He eased his length into Stiles’ ass.

Stiles tensed for a moment at the intrusion, breathing heavily and smothering a moan as he tried to relax and welcome the man’s length.

Derek was struggling to stay patient. Stiles’ ass was hot and deliciously tight, and resisting the urge to simply give in and savagely fuck the man into the sheets was testing his already limited self-control.

Stiles gently rolled his hips against Derek’s length, encouraging him to keep going.

Derek rested his hands on the man’s hips, slowly drawing out before bucking his hips and slamming his length into Stiles’ ass again.

Stiles arched his back, a savage moan tearing at his throat.

Derek’s carnal instincts took over, grabbing a hold of Stiles’ hips and thrusting into him.

Stiles cried out, the wave of pain delighting him, making his crotch throb and ache. His arms trembled and collapsed beneath him. He buried his face into the pillow, biting down into the cotton and muffling his moans.

Derek arched over Stiles, his thrusts faster and deeper. He littered kisses across Stiles’ neck. He reached between them and took Stiles’ dribbling cock in his hand. He rubbed his thumbs in circles, feeling the tense muscles twitch beneath his touch.

He began to roll his hips in slow, shallow thrusts, Stiles’ soft moans rolling though him.

“More,” Stiles gasped.

Derek growled, nipping at Stiles’ shoulder.

“More,” Stiles begged, his voice laced with lust.

Derek was losing control again, his breathing rugged and eyes burning with power.

He thrust into Stiles, sudden and brutal.

Derek ran kisses along Stiles’ jaw, glancing at the man’s face.

The corner of Stiles’ lips were curved up into a small smile, his eyes misted with lust. His lips hung open, twitching as the promise of sweet relief danced before him.

Derek watched the young man, his freckles dancing across his body as the blanket of flesh rippled as he moved.

He adjusted his grip on the man, looping his arms round Stiles’ waist and pulling him up into his lap. He thrust his hips, his cock hitting Stiles’ prostate and making him cry out in delight. His thighs tightened around Derek’s waist as he tried to grind back, desperate for more stimulation.

Stiles cupped his face, crushing their moths together in a messy, passionate kiss. He drew back, breathless and gasping for air. His nails dragged at the back of Derek’s skull, earning a deep growl as he picked up the pace.

Stiles’ moans escalated into one, drawn-out cry. He clawed at Derek’s shoulder blades, leaving angry red lines across his back. Stiles’ moans escalated into one drawn out cry. He threw his head back and cried out as he reached his climax, his body shuddering in Derek’s hold as his cries died away; breathless and overstimulated.

Derek soon followed, burying his face in the curve of Stiles’ neck as he came.

It took a moment for them to regain their senses, gasping and grunting as the euphoric waves of their orgasms died down.

Derek laid back on the bed, pulling Stiles down with him. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Stiles’ head.

They settled into a quiet calm, talking softly and asking questions.

“What did you look like as a kid?” Derek asked, tracing lined between the scattered moles on Stiles’ bare back. “Did you always have freckles?”

“I think so,” he answered, shivering at Derek’s ender touch. He thought for a moment before asking, “What was your favourite subject at school?”

“History,” Derek answered without a second thought. “What about you?”

“Phys-ed,” Stiles replied. “I could never sit still for too long.”

Derek chuckled, burying his face in the tousled mess of Stiles’ hair.

“People are going to get suspicious if I don’t go home tonight,” Stiles muttered after a moment.

“Stay with me a little longer,” Derek whispered pleadingly. “Please?”

Stiles curled into Derek’s arms. “Always.”

 

\- - - - -

 

Derek stirred, feeling Stiles shift beside him. He blinked his eyes open, rolling onto his side as he watched the young man sit up on the edge of the bed.

The apartment was consumed by the darkness of night, Stiles’ silhouette lit by the silvery moonlight that bled through the curtains.

“I really should go,” Stiles whispered.

The mattress wavered as Derek sat up, reaching across the bed and wrapping his arms around Stiles from behind. He kissed to Stiles’ bare shoulder lightly.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” Stiles muttered.

“One more day,” Derek said softly. “And then we get on the train and leave all of this behind.”

“One more day,” Stiles repeated back to him.

After Stiles left, Derek laid back down, his bed cold without Stiles beside him. He drifted off to sleep and woke as daylight lit his room. He showered and dressed before heading off to work like he usually did.

But something was wrong.

Crowds were gathering around the large screens that usually displayed reminders to watch out for symptoms of S.O.S. But instead, it was a news broadcast.

Derek stepped up to the back of the crowd, his heart rising into his throat as he read the words on the bottom of the screen.

**CURE FOR S.O.S DISCOVERED.**

“To be clear, this is not another Kappa Rho inhibitor,” the broadcaster explained, her voice sickeningly sweet. “It’s a cure that restores the health and systematic order of the individual. With the Ashby E.N.I cure, it is only a matter of time before all current cases of S.O.S are treated and further cases are prevented. The E.N.I cure is injected directly into the patient’s neck, leaving a small coin-like scar. Once administered, the drug requires a six-hour absorption period before the disease is completely neutralised. After which point, regardless of Stage, the patient is restored to normal health.”

Derek didn’t hear anything else; the world seemed to drift away as he turned away from the crowd and made his way towards Stiles’ apartment building. He felt sick, his stomach twisting into knots as bile rose into his throat. His head spun and his lips quivered breathlessly as he gulped down air.

He stopped before the large apartment building, fear slamming into his gut as Stiles hurried towards him, his body tense and his eyes filled with fear.

“I’ve been conscripted for the conception program,” he uttered under his breath as he reached Derek’s side.

“It’s going to be okay,” Derek tried to reassure him.

“No, it’s not,” Stiles argued, his voice shaking. “Even if I can avoid being taken in, my I.D tag is blocked. I can’t make it past any security gates; I can’t get on the train. I’ll be taken in sooner or later, and as soon as they run a blood test, they’ll find out what I am and send me to the DEN… or worse.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want the cure. I don’t want to forget.”

“They’re still trying to supply hospitals with the cure, we’ve got time,” Derek whispered. “I’ll work something out. I’ll get you out somehow, and then we get on the train tomorrow morning and we get out of here. It’s going to be alright.”

The words had just left his mouth when two guards stepped over to their side. Their cold glares were fixed on Stiles as they reached out and grabbed his arms.

Stiles didn’t fight it. He drew in a deep breath and turned, letting the guards drag him away. He cast one last glance over his shoulder, his dark eyes full of fear and trust.

Derek felt his chest ache. But he didn’t have time to waste. He made his way through the crowded streets to where he knew Scott would be posted.

“They took him,” he said as he ran up to Scott’s side. “They took Stiles. They’re going to send him to the DEN.”

“Stay calm,” Scott said softly. “I’ll find Melissa and work something out. Until then, I need you to return to your apartment and wait.”

Derek blinked back tears, swallowing hard as he reluctantly nodded. He did as he was told. He turned around and made his way back to his apartment. He quickly lost track of time, pacing back and forth across the room as his mind ran wild with thoughts.

A security alert lit up the screen in his apartment. He turned to look at the television as the broadcaster announced, “Officials would like to congratulate the health and safety official, Rafael McCall, for alerting authorities to two individuals who were operating against protocol in the DEN.”

Scott and Melissa’s faces appeared on the screen.

He felt a wave of burning rage wash over him, betrayed and broken. He held his breath, hot tears streaking his vision as he fought the urge to throw up. His lungs were consumed by a raging inferno as they screamed for air. His body shook with rage, his hands trembling as the world around him fell silent and his ears filled with the sound of his pounding heartbeat.

The presenter continued, her soft voice tearing through the ringing in his ears, “All those involved have received the Ashby E.N.I cure and will soon return to being productive members of society.”

Derek grabbed his jacket, tugging it on as he ran out of his apartment and down the now-deserted streets. He ran until he found the large grey building surrounded by ten-feet-tall concrete walls. He tried to calm himself as he stepped up to the small wire gate.

“I’m looking for Stiles Stilinski,” Derek told the guard. “His I.D tag is 34729647.”

The guard typed the number into the tablet he held. “I’m sorry, sir, he’s dead.”

“What?” Derek muttered, his voice trembling. “Please, check again.”

The guard did, typing the number again. “Stiles Stilinski, brought in this morning?”

Derek nodded.

The man lifted his eyes to meet Derek’s.

He didn’t hear the words that left the man’s mouth.

Stiles was dead.

 _No_ , he thought. _He can’t be_. This can’t be happening.

And yet, there he stood out the front of the DEN with the words resonating inside his head.

Asphyxiation, the guard had said.

He was dead. Stiles was gone.

He felt numb, the world blurring around him as his body seemed to move by instinct. Tears streaked his cheeks and his lungs burnt for air.

He didn’t remember how or when he made it to the towering glass building. He didn’t remember climbing the stairs. The only thought that filled his mind was Stiles.

The pain was unbearable.

He needed it to stop.

 

\- - - - -

 

Derek pushed open the door to his apartment, felling drained and numb. He stepped into the large room, staggering backwards as a body collided with him. He staggered back, his hands flying up to steady whoever it was that looped their arms around his neck and pulled him into the hug.

He looked down, his veins flooded with ice as he stared, shocked and unmoving. His eyes were wide with disbelief.

There he was. His eyes lit by the light of his apartment, the dark depths sparkling like topaz as they looked up at him with relief. His hair was a mess and his lower lip was raw from where he had been anxiously gnawing at it.

“Where have you been?” Stiles asked, leaning back to cup Derek’s face in his hands. “I was so worried. I’ve been waiting for hours.”

Derek stared at him in disbelief. His lips moved around words but he couldn’t seem to find his voice.

“How?” he rasped.

“There was a guy, Miguel. He was brought in at the same time as me,” Stiles explained. “He killed himself, so Melissa swapped his I.D tag with mine and got me out. Scott got me out the back gate and told me to run straight here, but when I got here you were gone.”

Derek stared at him, stunned. His hands slid up Stiles’ side as if he were testing to see if Stiles was really there.

Stiles’ brow furrowed, his eyes searching Derek’s face.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice tense. His hands slid down Derek’s jaw and to his neck, freezing as his finger brushed over the small, round bandage on his neck. His eyes flew open wide, his lips quivering as he looked up at Derek.

“Why?” he asked, his voice full of shock and betrayal.

“I couldn’t…” Derek started, his voice failing him as tears trailed down his cheeks. “I thought you were gone. I couldn’t take it….”

Stiles’ eyes welled with glistening tears as he rested his forehead against Derek’s.

“How long?” he whispered, his mind racing with thoughts as he desperately tried to find a solution to this. “How long do you have left?”

“I don’t know,” Derek whispered. “Five hours, I think.”

Derek felt his hands shaking.

Stiles took a step closer, burying his face in Derek’s chest

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ slender shoulders and held him close.

“It’s alright,” Stiles said, a sob working its way out of his chest. “You can fight it. Just… fight it.”

Derek felt Stiles’ warm tears seep into his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Derek guided Stiles over to the bed, laying down and pulling Stiles against his chest. He pressed kisses to the top of his head as they both cried.

“You can fight it,” Stiles said pleadingly, pulling back enough that Derek could see his face.

Derek looked at him, trying to memorise every detail, every curve. He tried to remember the way that Stiles’ cheek dips into a dimple when he smiles, or the sparkle in his eye when he laughs. He tried to remember what it felt like to hold his hand, to sit in silence and feel like they were the only two people in the world.

“Stiles,” he said softly, gently brushing the ball of his thumb across Stiles’ cheek and wiping away his tears. “Please, no matter what I say or what I do, please don’t give up on me. No matter what happens, I’m still in here trying to fight my way out. I will never stop fighting. Please, don’t give up on me.”

“Never,” Stiles whispered as he leant forward, bringing his lips to Derek’s and kissing him softly. He drew back, another wave of tears streaming down his cheeks.

Derek gently shushed him, holding him close as he wiped the tears from Stiles’ face.

“I love you,” Derek whispered over and over again. “I love you.”

They fell asleep like that, their arms wound around each other as they tried to hold onto those final moments.

 

\- - - - -

 

Stiles blinked his eyes open the light of day. The golden rays of sunlight lit his face as he stirred. He reached out, finding the bed empty beside him. He sat upright, the blanket pooling around his waist as he looked over to the figure standing in front of the large window, dressed in his crisp white suit.

Stiles dragged himself out of bed, cautiously stepping closer. He swallowed hard against the rising lump in his throat.

“Derek?” he muttered.

The man turned to look at Stiles, his shoulders squared and his face unreadable. His eyes were devoid of all emotion, pale and empty as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles felt his heart sink into his gut.

He was gone; his Derek was gone.

 

\- - - - -

 

They followed the plan and made their way to the train, standing a few feet apart from each other the whole time. They met Chris on the platform. He gave them brief instructions: get on the train and stay apart until after the fourth stop when they’d be beyond the reaches of the city.

The train pulled up to the platform and the three of them got into the carriage, sitting separately so no one would suspect anything.

Derek sat a few seats behind Stiles, watching as the young man stared out the window and watched the world soar by. He felt something warm blossom in his chest.

He counted the stops; one.

An image filled his mind: Stiles stood before the wall of windows in the office, his face lit by the light of day. His dark eyes swirling with emotions as they filled with tears.

Two.

He saw Stiles sitting across the space at lunch, watching him with curiosity.

Three.

He saw Stiles in the storage closet, his face half-lit by the dull light. His chest rose and fell with shaky breaths, his hands trembling as they sat side-by-side on the floor. He remembered reaching out for his hand, weaving their fingers together. He remembered the warmth, the comfort of having him there.

Four.

He remembered the kiss—the first and the last. He remembered the feeling of his soft lips, the warmth of his touch, and the strange electricity that soared through his veins.

He looked up, his eyes focused on the back of Stiles’ head.

When it was safe, he rose from his seat, making his way down the aisle and sat down next to Stiles. He reached out, sliding his hand into Stiles’ and lacing their fingers together.

He heard Stiles sniff back a sob as his hand tightened around Derek’s.

“We’ll be okay,” Derek whispered. “I promise.”

 

\- - - - -

 

Stiles woke before the sun, rolling over to curl into Derek’s chest. He woke with a start when he realised the bed was empty. He turned on the lamp, looking around the room.

“Derek?” he called, pushing back the blankets and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He began to walk through the small cabin. He stepped onto the back decking, noticing the figure that stood on the beach.

The man stood barefoot on the sand, his eyes outcast towards the lapping waves that surrounded the Peninsula.

They had been there for a week and Stiles could tell that Derek meant what he had said; he was fighting his way out. There were moments of clarity, glimpses of the man he had once been.

“Derek?” Stiles said softly.

He glanced over his shoulder at Stiles, his expression softening as he reached out and pulled Stiles into his arms.

Stiles buried his face in Derek’s chest, letting the man’s warmth comfort him. Stiles looked up, his eyes fixed on Derek’s face as it was lift by the rising sun.

The darkness faded away as the sky was streaked with bright colours; shades of blue, yellow, orange and pink.

Stiles watched as Derek’s face filled with wonder.

“You were right,” he whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

Time stood still, and – for a moment – it was just the two of them.

Stiles tightened his arms around Derek’s waist, nuzzling his face into Derek’s shirt.

Derek held him close, craning his neck and kissing Stiles’ cheek. “I love you.”

Stiles felt tears well in his eyes as he whispered, “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


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